Exasperation Abounds
by peacefulsands
Summary: Written for the prompt :  Losers/Dark Angel, characters of your choice, "Don't make me turn this bus around!" - Characters include Clay, Pooch, Jensen and X5-494  later known as Alec


**Exasperation Abounds.**

Written for the prompt : Losers/Dark Angel, characters of your choice, "Don't make me turn this bus around!"

Fandom: The Losers/Dark Angel

Characters : The Losers Team and X5-494 (before he was named Alec)

Word count: 780

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**Exasperation Abounds**

This was so not the way his life had been supposed to go after being given command of his own unit. Risking his neck – check; people to order around – check; daredevil missions in far flung countries – check. That was all well and good but nowhere in the small print had he seen anything about mouthy subordinates, or kids with 'enhancements' and fuck if he really knew what that meant.

So here they were in fucking Central Africa baking in the heat because seriously even Cougs didn't like this climate, accompanied by a bunch of kids that made Jensen look old and no, he was not going to admit any time soon to just how old Jensen made him feel on the average day. This lot . . . this lot were strange and Clay really didn't want to know what the army had been playing at with them.

So there had been this drug and gun running cartel . . . there wasn't any more. Simple when you looked at it like that. Clay sighed when he heard the snark starting in the back of the bus again. Why couldn't Jensen just shut the fuck up? He may as well ask why he kept asking that question, because it had been front and center for as long as he'd known Jensen.

Most of this strange team were silent, virtual automatons in the back of the van but he saw a sick gleam in their eyes just before they'd been deployed. He didn't like it, it wasn't normal, the way they worked, the way they relished the blood and gore. He'd felt sickened as he'd seen them hunt down a few of the druglord's minions who'd managed to escape the initial slaughter. They were like animals the way they'd torn the bodies apart.

There was one who was different though; almost normal, just slightly off. Clay couldn't place it. The kid reminded him of Jensen in a way and he wasn't sure that was a good thing. The kid was mouthy for a start, quick and intelligent and he didn't fit. He didn't fit with the rest of his team. They were all watching him . . . waiting for him to do something . . . Clay wondered what. Unlike his own team, he knew nothing about them beyond their designations. Designations! For the love of God, not one of them ever referred to the others by anything other than their number as if they had no idea or even interest in what each other's names were.

That one was different though, he'd sort of buddied up with Jensen, rapid fire wit, banter and intelligence. Seriously Mensa couldn't have borne the strain of keeping those two occupied and out of trouble. Right now, they were all lucky that the two of them weren't planning world domination!

X5-494 was rolling his eyes at something Jensen had said, answering back glibly that Jensen didn't know what he was talking about and their voices were rising again, in danger of reaching fever pitch. It was like having a pair of squabbling six year olds in the back of the car on a long journey to visit grandparents . . . and the in-law ones at that. Interminable torture and if Clay had to put up with it for one minute more . . .

The bitching was interrupted suddenly as Pooch looked over his shoulder and bellowed, "Don't make me turn this bus around! So help me, God, I will dump the two of you in the middle of the desert and you can find your own way home if you don't shut the fuck up now!"

Jensen and X5-494 looked up, both of them wide-eyed with surprise, the squabbling stumbling to a rapid halt. Looking round, it seemed that both of them took note of the glint of sunlight off the knife that Roque was fidgeting with, the almost eager expressions on 494's team-mates. The two of them shifted in their seats awkwardly, turning away from each other to look out of opposite windows.

Clay could have sworn even the bus breathed a huge sigh of relief at the ensuing twenty minutes of peace and quiet. It was turning out to be a better than expected day . . . Jensen had lasted a whole twenty minutes before he couldn't keep quiet any longer. Clay wondered what X5-494's record would have been; he'd have laid bets it wasn't much better than Jensen's.


End file.
